Style
My dad is not in the habit of wearing leather pants. This, while probably not too surprising, is not something that the majority of kids in Berlin could say. Okay, that may be a slight exaggeration, but the truth remains that while I feel confident in saying the majority of leather in California that is not still on cows is in the form of jackets or perhaps boots, I cannot give you that guarantee in Berlin.
People here wear strange things; this shouldn't surprise anyone. Probably everyone can pull up an image, imagined or remembered, of eccentrically dressed Berlin teenagers: multiple piercings, heavy eyeliner, spiky, green and purple hair, torn denim or leather clothing, surly German Shepherd sidekick. It's never occurred to me to wonder what happens to punks when they get past their 20s, so I wasn't really ready to witness the answer to that unasked question. The answer involves a lot of leather and incongruous reading-glasses-over-eyeliner, or appears in the form of a man I saw the other day, a man wearing a professorly tweed jacket (the kind with leather elbow patches), distinguished-looking bifocals, brushed-suede shoes, and shiny leather pants. It was the same effect as might have been reached if Sherlock Holmes spilled coffee on his trousers while staying over at Eddie Izzard's house, and had to borrow a pair of pants. Or if any middle aged man in any other city had a midlife crisis and couldn't afford a convertible. But in this city, it's not due to spilled liquids or fear of aging; here, it's called Style.
Not very many minutes after passing the Professor of Rock, I saw a woman in her 50s walking down the street in 4-inch, camoflauge-patterened stilletto knee boots and an army jacket. Then a white-haired grandmother in Puma sneakers, stretch denim pants, and an army bomber jacket. I honestly couldn't make up these combinations of person+outfit if I tried, so this is all guaranteed to be true.
The style of tourists is equally jarring, but here I don't think there's a huge difference between those in Berlin and those in any other European city in October. Hiking boots with jeans is all well and good - I'm really fine with that - but tight V-neck sweaters over baggy t-shirts is unacceptable in any country, at any time. The same goes for mixing pieces of clothing emblazoned with the logos of more than one major league sports team, or more than two teams from different major league sport. It's really great that you're rooting for the Astros to go all the way, it really is, but please don't also (and bewilderingly) wear a Celtics jacket and a Rams fanny pack. Also, who decided it would be a good marketing plan to MAKE Rams fanny packs? I just don't accept that enough members of the fanny pack demographic are Rams fans to make it worth setting up the embroidery machine.
But I have definitely digressed. My main point is that walking around the streets of Berlin alternately makes me want to gape in disbelief, giggle uncontrollably, or wash my eyes with some very strong form of solvent. Though I'm sure plenty of the punks are laughing at me.
People here wear strange things; this shouldn't surprise anyone. Probably everyone can pull up an image, imagined or remembered, of eccentrically dressed Berlin teenagers: multiple piercings, heavy eyeliner, spiky, green and purple hair, torn denim or leather clothing, surly German Shepherd sidekick. It's never occurred to me to wonder what happens to punks when they get past their 20s, so I wasn't really ready to witness the answer to that unasked question. The answer involves a lot of leather and incongruous reading-glasses-over-eyeliner, or appears in the form of a man I saw the other day, a man wearing a professorly tweed jacket (the kind with leather elbow patches), distinguished-looking bifocals, brushed-suede shoes, and shiny leather pants. It was the same effect as might have been reached if Sherlock Holmes spilled coffee on his trousers while staying over at Eddie Izzard's house, and had to borrow a pair of pants. Or if any middle aged man in any other city had a midlife crisis and couldn't afford a convertible. But in this city, it's not due to spilled liquids or fear of aging; here, it's called Style.
Not very many minutes after passing the Professor of Rock, I saw a woman in her 50s walking down the street in 4-inch, camoflauge-patterened stilletto knee boots and an army jacket. Then a white-haired grandmother in Puma sneakers, stretch denim pants, and an army bomber jacket. I honestly couldn't make up these combinations of person+outfit if I tried, so this is all guaranteed to be true.
The style of tourists is equally jarring, but here I don't think there's a huge difference between those in Berlin and those in any other European city in October. Hiking boots with jeans is all well and good - I'm really fine with that - but tight V-neck sweaters over baggy t-shirts is unacceptable in any country, at any time. The same goes for mixing pieces of clothing emblazoned with the logos of more than one major league sports team, or more than two teams from different major league sport. It's really great that you're rooting for the Astros to go all the way, it really is, but please don't also (and bewilderingly) wear a Celtics jacket and a Rams fanny pack. Also, who decided it would be a good marketing plan to MAKE Rams fanny packs? I just don't accept that enough members of the fanny pack demographic are Rams fans to make it worth setting up the embroidery machine.
But I have definitely digressed. My main point is that walking around the streets of Berlin alternately makes me want to gape in disbelief, giggle uncontrollably, or wash my eyes with some very strong form of solvent. Though I'm sure plenty of the punks are laughing at me.
posted by Katherine at 10:22 AM
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